Dial N For Ninja
by J.R.R. Not-Tolkien
Summary: When you've got a serious kidnapping on your hands, you've got to hire an equally serious, hard-boiled detective to solve the mystery. This is from the case files of Jay Walker, Private Eye. (AU)
1. It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

**Hiya! I've been wanting to write a story like this for a really long time, and now my dream's finally coming true! Yay!**

 **One of my personal favorite genres that I have never read but have heard about is _film noir_ , which is French for . . . something black. It's pretty much a story with a cynical detective, with a melancholic sort of air to the whole story. A good example is the movie _Casablanca_.**

 **I've got a little practice with the genre by reading some of the _film noir_ themed _Calvin and Hobbes_ comic strips, which might sound a little stupid, but I've got the hang of writing it, I'd like to think.**

 **So, I hope you enjoy this mystery!**

* * *

 **1\. A Dark and Stormy Night**

The raindrops slid down my window like a torrent of kids on a snow day. Lightning whips snapped and cracked down on the Ninjago City streets, beating our wind-tossed metropolis with the ruthlessness of a hardened slave driver. The rumble of thunder filled my ears like the roaring of a dragon. It was a night worthy of any big-nosed, beagle-faced author's typewriter.

Me? I was snug inside my cozy little office, if your definition of cozy walked arm-in-arm with cramped. I couldn't even sneeze without the mucus ricocheting off the walls half-a-dozen times before coming back to meet its maker, in this case, yours truly.

* * *

Who am I? I'm Walker, Jay Walker. Sadly, my handle was given to me by parents who had a quirky sense of humor and not much else. Not exactly the best name to give if you're asking for a private eye. Which not many people were these days.

Even so, I make a good amount of dough in the detective business for a guy with a name that suggests I zig-zag across the street for kicks. Snooping pays the bills, all right, particularly Bill, the tenant owner, and Bill, the street thug. But hey, I'm a hard-boiled, cynical, sarcastic kinda private eye. Not much gets to me, even paying a thug for the right to cross the street. Which I should address pretty soon, because I'm getting slightly ticked off about that. . .

I prefer my books printed in black-and-white, no illustrations, just the cold, hard story. Once you've entered _my_ office, don't expect me to sit there with a hanky blowing my nose while you pour out a gut-wrenching tale of woe at the loss of your jewels or some other ridiculous personal item that's weaseled its way into your affections. That doesn't help anyone, especially not me.

No, I'm not some heartless Scrooge-type of investigator whose only ambition is to hoard as many greenbacks as I can get my white-gloved paws on. I just happen to hide my feelings under a sardonic exterior. They're locked with a Fidelius Charm, and I'm the Secret-Keeper. Exposed emotions in the detective business could take you down faster than a man knocked on the back of the head. Not that I've ever experienced such a thing.

* * *

Speaking of feelings, it was my affections for a certain young lady that got me into one of my most dangerous cases, the one that begins "It was a dark and stormy night," the one I'm talking about right now. So listen up.

Miss Nya was my buddy's younger sister, and when I first got a glimpse of her, my heart did a Fred Astaire tap dance routine, immediately followed by a slew of flamenco dancers with castanets a'clicking. She was a raven-haired beauty, with the figure of Ginger Rogers and the sweetness and spunk of Shirley Temple. To soon find out she had a liking for me when I liked her back was more satisfying than a well-solved case.

Miss Nya and I couldn't see each other all that often, but when we did, my hard-boiled exterior peeled away as easily as soaked pajamas. I loved her more than I ever thought possible.

* * *

So it came as a bit of a surprise to see the self-same dame's big brother come knocking on my door that dark and stormy night. Now, Kai and I are on pretty good terms, considering I was courting his sister, and Kai was more protective of her than a hermit crab was of his shell. But to say it straight out, sometimes our personalities clash worse than the Greeks and the Romans did in those days of who-knows-when.

* * *

Someone rapped urgently on my door. Extinguishing my fake cigarette, I called, "Come in." I don't actually smoke, I just stick an old sucker stick in my mouth and pretend it works. That usually results with me spitting the stick out a few seconds later, because if it did work, I would have spat out the cigarette before I even opened the cigarette package.

Now, normally in these _film noir_ -type stories, a mysterious dark-eyed dame comes slinking in with a sob-story about her fiance's murder or the sudden disappearance of her best diamond necklace, but this isn't exactly your normal detective story. That, and I already told you that the caller was Mr. Kai Smith.

My high-class business associate pal came dashing in, and I immediately knew something was wrong. How did I know that? Because Kai was soaking wet, and he wasn't carrying an umbrella or a coat. Something would really have had to upset him for him to even come out in this weather, when his least favorite substance was pouring out of the sky in bedsheets, complete with a four-poster bed, goose-down comforter, and feather pillows.

"Hold on," I said, holding up my hand to prevent him from sitting down. Reaching lazily over to my right, I unceremoniously stripped my window of its garments and tossed them over the chair in front of my desk. When Kai gave me an utterly perplexed look, I shrugged. "Hey, this stuff is hard enough to keep in perfect condition as it is. I've got more curtains where that came from. I'm not letting that chair get soaked."

A weak smile spread across Kai's face. "As logical as always," he said, making sure to keep his drenched suit arms off the armrests as he sat down on the curtained chair. Heck, I'd used those drapes so many times to keep that chair and the rest of my furniture from getting wrecked I was surprised they weren't growing mold.

* * *

I took my brogued feet off my desk and leaned forward, my fedora tilting at a rakish angle on my head. "Let's cut to the chase, Kai. What's wrong?"

"How do you know something's wrong?" Kai shot back.

I rolled my eyes. "I happen to notice things, Mr. Smith," I retorted. "One such thing is that, you being the hydrophobic, yet mysterious hydrated being you are, you wouldn't go out in this weather in an escort of armored tanks. And here you are, soaking wet and dripping all over my carpet, without even the decency of having been sheltered by an umbrella, or at the very least, a raincoat. The other such thing is that people don't come to me unless there's something wrong, unless they want to chat. And judging by what I just said, you're not here to small-talk." I folded my arms across my chest. "And neither am I. Is that enough for you, or would you like me to phone my lawyer and have him present a case on the matter?"

Kai put his hands up in surrender, careful to keep them over his waterlogged suit. "I'm not completely hydrophobic, you know that," he said, but he sounded begrudgingly impressed. "And no, a lawyer isn't necessary."

"Speaking of noticing things," I glanced somewhat hopefully around Kai, "I've also noticed that your, permit me, lovely younger sister isn't here."

"That's what I came to talk to you about," Kai said, apprehensively folding and unfolding his hands, knuckles white with stress. "Nya's gone missing."

I spat my coffee right onto one of my brand-new record books, but at the minute, I wouldn't have given a darn if it had hit the president of the United States in the face. I was about to scream, "She's _**what?!**_ ", but instead, I tried to keep my voice level as I asked, "What do you mean, 'she's gone missing'?"

"I think she's been kidnapped." Kai ran his hands through his spiky brown hair with fierce anxiety. "I haven't seen her for three days, and the police have no way to find her."

" _You should have come to me first!_ " I wanted to yell, but I vented my loosely-hidden panic on my necktie instead. "When did you last see her?" I asked, tugging my tie while at the same time pushing my fedora up out of my eyes.

"She was on her way to her job at the Buccaneer Cabana," Kai said, his brow furrowing with distaste. "Not my first choice of a career for her, but it was the best-paying job she could find on short notice."

I scowled. "Isn't that the club run by Captain N?"

Captain N was . . . well, let's just say he wasn't anywhere close to becoming my Buddy of the Week. He and his scurvy robber crew would have gotten away with a good deal of crimes that were best left unattempted if it wasn't for my private eye snooping. The ol' cap'n weaseled his way out of a cell in Kryptarium by claiming to be reformed, and had been permitted to open up the Buccaneer Cabana, which quickly became the most popular hangout in Ninjago City, its patrons fluctuating from the elite and VIPs to the lowest street scum. I acted as unofficial probation officer, not trusting Captain N with such a delicate matter such as reformation. The whole thing was a baloney act to me.

"That's the one," Kai confirmed. "But before Nya disappeared, a piece of paper slipped out of her coat pocket." He produced a small plastic bag with a folded scrap of notepaper sealed inside out of his pocket.

"Smart move," I commented, taking the bag and unsealing it. I unfolded the piece of paper. It was inscribed with a scribbled address. "72 Donovan Boulevard," I read, scowl deepening. "If I recall correctly, the Buccaneer Cabana is on 89 Gypsy Avenue. This address is almost all the way across town from there."

"Why would she have that address?" Kai asked, frowning. "She never goes to that part of town, so far as I know."

"That's what I'm gonna find out." I stood up, pushing my chair back as I headed for the door. I handed Kai my umbrella and raincoat, assuring him I'd manage a little rain as I pulled on my tan trench coat.

"You're gonna find my sister, right?" Kai asked fearfully.

I nodded curtly. "This isn't just a matter of someone going missing," I said. "This is a matter of the heart. I'll find Nya if it's the last thing I do. I swear it."


	2. Not a Stop At Your Neighborhood Club (1)

**OH M'BLOODY GOSH WHAT DA HECK ISAMATTAH WID ME?! WHAT DISEASE AM I SUFFAHING FROM THAT MAKES MEH UNABLE TO UPDATE?! FOR A REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEE?!**

 **Ex-squeeze me.**

 **XD**

 **Sorry, I've fallen ill of both the dreaded _inspirationlossitis_ and _Schoolwork Throat!_** **I know I just updated recently XD but even so, I hate not updating for longer than two weeks, especially when I try to catch up on reviewing on my peeps' stories (which I am failing horribly at DX)**

 **Thank you SOOOOOOOO much for your support, and your patience with me for taking so long with this! Unfortunately, I've got no time to respond to reviews (DX), so I hope ya enjoys the chappie and gotta skeeeeeeedaddle!**

* * *

 **2\. Not a Stop At Your Neighborhood Club . . . (Part 1)**

After seeing Kai safely off, I walked down the rain-saturated streets of Ninjago City, pulling my coat collar up around my neck. This was no laughing matter, that's for sure. Nya's life could be hanging in the balance, and I wasn't going to be a heartbroken bystander watching as the tightrope holding her life up snapped.

Unfortunately, I'd visited that reveler's den known as "Buccaneer Cabana" enough so that I could have walked there blindfolded with my feet handcuffed to my elbows, if I was double-jointed or had bones made entirely of rubber. The only two excuses I had to visit that madhouse was to keep an eye on ol' Cap'n N, or to pay my respects to Miss Nya Smith.

It took me only a fifteen minutes' walk through the downpour to the Cabana. It looked pretty swanky for being a hangout of the psycho and foolhardy. Neon lights, plush velvet carpet in the entrance, and enough windows to supply an opthamologist's clientele with sunglasses for a good half-millennium. The place was brighter than Elvis Presley in an LED-infused suit on New Year's Eve at Times Square, and I was at high risk of winning a one-way ticket to Blindburg, or at least to its nearby neighbor, Glassesville.

As I approached the glass double-doors, I was stopped by two burly doormen with biceps like sausages on steroids. "Hey, kiddo," one grunted. "You gots t'have a pass to come in here."

I raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Looks like ol' Cap'n upped his security around here," I remarked calmly. I'd never seen these two circus strongmen rejects before, and pass or not, I was gonna show these bozos not to mess with a man on a mission, no matter how young he was.

"Besides, you're too young to get a pass anyway," the other smirked. "Move along, half-pint, your mama's calling."

"For your information, my mom calls me on the weekends, I'm within the legal age for entry to this madhouse, and I regret to say that 'half-pint' has some business here, pass or not," I responded curtly, dipping my hand into my breast pocket and flourishing my badge. "I'm Jay Walker, private detective, and probation officer for your boss, Nadakhan Django. If I were you, I'd avoid getting in my way, or you'll end up in an unwanted fling with the Lady of the Law."

The doorman who had first spoken glanced nervously at his partner. "He's a police officer, Squiffy," he hissed. "And if he's got business with the boss―"

"Aw, don't be such a sissy, Bucko," the one who had dubbed me 'half-pint' replied snarkily. "How could this _kid_ be a gumshoe, and a probatin' one at that?"

"Hey pal, this _gumshoe_ has connections," I retorted, tucking my badge back into my pocket. "One of them is a hotline to Captain Z. Julien of the NNCP, head of the infamous 'Nindroid' squadron. My friend Zane hasn't lost a single fight, and he's dealt with baddies tougher than you clowns on his day off."

While Bucko was cracking faster than the San Andreas faultline, Squiffy remained impassive. "So you're chums with a police captain, big deal," he sneered. "What's another connection that should make me shake in my boots?"

"A lady friend of mine who goes by the name of Wisp," I replied, holding my ground and my glare at the doorman. "She gets quicker to the point than a college professor on a half-day of class, and if she doesn't like you, she dismisses you with the crack of a switch."

"Oh yeah? Then why doncha introduce me to this Wisp woman?" Squiffy mocked, still not convinced. "I'll bet she's quite the babe to be dating a gumshoe like you."

"Happy to." I reached into the gun holster concealed under my coat and pointed the muzzle of my firearm right at the doorman's blood-pumper. Ah, every detective should hang out with one of these antique dolls. To heck with .38's and 33-calibers, just set yourself up with an Old West six-shooter and you've got a date with a lovely girl named success.

Squiffy took a step back, genuinely surprised by the pistol now aimed at his chest. "Hey, kid, I thought you said Wisp was your girlfriend! What's with the gun?"

"Ah, I never said Wisp was a warm-blooded human female, did I?" I replied, smirking. "Wisp is the hottest gun this side of the Ignacia River, and trust me, I don't think you'd wanna steal a kiss or two from _this_ lady. Wonder why I call her Wisp?"

Squiffy scowled and shook his head. "That's all she leaves behind when she's done with you," I said, slowly clicking the trigger into ready position to fire. "So I recommend you let me pass, or get a taste of bullet heartburn."

"Let him through, Squiffy!" Bucko hissed in a panic. "He's got a gun!"

"Yeah, _Squiffy_ ," I grinned. "Listen to Bucko. I never miss whatever I've got my sights on, and right now, my sighs are right on that hardened casing you call your heart."

Squiffy hesitated, then finally stepped aside. "Boss isn't here anyway," he muttered as I walked past. Then I caught a rather obscene curse against me, and I decided to take care of this dunderhead like I should have at first.

He never swore again.

I casually blew the smoke off Wisp's muzzle as I kicked the body aside. Turning to Bucko, whose knees were knocking up a thunderstorm worse than the racket already going on, I said calmly, "Be sure to clean that up, and give your boss my deepest condolences about Squiffy." Then, pocketing my firearm, I walked through the double-doors and into the club known as the Buccaneer Cabana.


End file.
